Leave It All and Run
by Death by Fallen Star
Summary: "Eponine leans over, her breath heavy and her throat sore. It chills him, down under his skin. She says, 'What's wrong with you, southern boy? Why'd you run? You have to tell me.' And he will, one day, but for now he walks away from her hazy eyes-walks away as he always does, because facing a problem is hard. Running away? That's the easy stuff." Enjolras&Eponine Modern AU.
1. Scrapping the Asphalt

**Leave It All and Run**

**Chapter 1: Scraping the Asphalt**

Enjolras had decided that driving a car all the way to New York City, and then keeping up with it, would be stupid and expensive. That's why he sold it in the end of February without telling his father. When he comes home, his dad throws a fit, saying it doesn't matter that the car was under Enjolras's name, it was his _father_ who paid for it and Enjolras had no right whatsoever just selling it out of the blue and for what? Five thousand dollars? What was Enjolras thinking?

His son drops the ball then, telling his dad, "I'm moving to New York City. March 5th I'm taking a Greyhound. I have all of my own money, I'll be fine. You won't hear from me again-I'm done." Enjolras takes in a deep breath, his chest filling with anxiety because no matter what he's leaving-he just prays his father will give up.

Mr. Enjolras wavers, hints of emotion in his blue steel eyes that had once looked like his son's. The emotion doesn't stay long though, and his father prompts him, "You've been doing so well in therapy."

But the blonde hair boy closes his eyes and shakes his head slowly. "No. I haven't." And that was that.

**!&!**

Greyhound bus tickets cost $165, which leaves Enjolras with a little under eight grand to survive on. He knows New York will eat at his pockets though, so he does what his favourite teacher had taught him everyday for four years: Budget.

The bus ride to New York City is a little over twelve hours long. He has to spend two of those talking to his cell phone carrier and convincing them that _yes_, he does what to set a limit to his phone calls and _yes_, he does want to only make it 500 minutes a month because _yes_, that is more than enough and _yes_, he understands it will be more expensive if he tries to change it later but _yes_, he really does want to set the limit and _yes_, thank you have a good day. He's always hated talking on the phone and the conversation with Lydia, the "helpful" customer service agent, hadn't changed his opinion.

He is so exhausted, that by the time the bus is in Virginia he opts to take a nap, securing all of stuff and dozing off while _V for Vendetta _plays from the front of the bus.

**!&!**

He's woken up an hour later when the bus hits a pothole and a body suddenly slams into him. He jolts awake, looking to his side and seeing a tangled mess of black hair smacked against him. He coughs and shifts and says, "Oh I'm sorry," even though it's really not his fault.

"Sorry!" the girl squeals and she pushes herself off the seat, another girl with wavy red hair helping her up. "Sorry!" the girl says again and looks at him, blue eyes shining. "I didn't mean to-oh gosh sorry! Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Are you-" he's interrupted by the redhead.

"Cherie honey, let's not worry about him- how are you guys?" The redhead looks down and Enjolras absentmindedly follows her gaze to the other girls stomach, which is just barely swelled.

Cherie, supposedly, swats away the girls touches and shushes her, "I'm fine, I'm fine. I'm only four months along honestly." She looks back to him and Enjolras snaps his eyes back up, his cheeks warming a bit. "I'm so sorry, are you okay?" Her hand is reaching to him, and he gets the thought that she'll be a great mom, worrying about complete stranger like this. Then he notices the wedding band and hopes the kid is raised happy, and hopes she does worry over it.

He nods. "Yes, I'm sorry."

She smiles brightly, perfectly straight teeth and her eyes glitter. "It's okay. Again, I'm sorry." She faces her redheaded companion, who's been watching them carefully and Enjolras throws her a polite nod. She returns it, her light auburn hair bouncing in the movement, her brown eyes glowing in the low lighting of the bus.

Cherie grabs the girls hand, interlocking their fingers and pushing her into a seat a few rows behind Enjolras while saying, "Come on, let's go sit, Azelma."

**!&!**

Cherie and Azelma get off in Pennsylvania, which he only notices because Cherie throw him a polite smile at the bus stop as she's helped into a cab. Azelma throws him no look, and Enjolras doesn't think much about it after that.

He's mostly left alone for the rest of the ride, only being asked a question or two by a nice looking old lady a seat diagonal of him. She asks if he's ever seen the Eiffel Tower, and he tells her that no, he's from Tennessee and the closest he's ever gotten is the tourist spot in Paris, Tennessee. She giggles good heartedly, and it makes him feel good so he smiles.

"I've seen it-the real one, that is-a few times. My brother use to take me all the time to Europe, he loved it very much. He liked seeing all the churches-he was always quite religious. He wanted to be a priest, but the cards never fell in his favour. He was still a good person though-very good. I loved him very much. He died last week, did you know?" She seems to be lost, rambling in mourning and Enjolras is taken aback, quickly sucked into this woman's tale.

"No, I didn't," he answers. He shifts, staring at the old woman worried.

"Yes. Just in his sleep-I hadn't heard he was sick, so I couldn't be with him and that's probably the only part I don't like. The nurse told me though that his last words had been beautiful-very beautiful. She says they're so beautiful she can't even tell me over the phone." She sighs, then coughs. "She'll tell me though, she swears by it. Tell me, where are you going?" He tells her. "Ah, do you have an address?" He shakes his head. "Well, that's a shame. I'd love to tell you the words. I want to share them. I'm getting old myself."

Enjolras reaches for words and pulls out, "I'm sorry," but the woman shakes her head.

"No need. If you're meant to hear them, you will. I don't doubt."

They didn't talk much after that, and she gets out in New Jersey, and Enjolras falls asleep, feeling an anxious pulse fill his veins.

**!&!**

Eponine's has to rub her eyes furiously before she can open them because they're swollen shut by sleep dust (as Jehan likes to call it). When she's able to open them fully, deep brown eyes flickering in the light pushing through the curtains, she can't help but smile at the pile of people on top of her. Grantaire is wrapped around her from behind, Jehan has his head resting on her waist, Courfeyrac is spooning Jehan but his hand is resting gently on Eponine's thigh. She tries to move her other hand, but quickly notices Joly is still holding a (now warm and limp) icepack to her bruised knuckles. She shifts, and feels Bossuet's bald head resting on her calf and she can see Bahorel's mess of hair sticking up from from the bottom of the bed. On a chair beside the bed with his feet perched on the pillows by her face, Combeferre sleeps soundly. She chances it, one look up and she can't stop her smile when she sees Gavroche curled up above her head and nothing makes her smile more.

Even after a night of uncontrollable sobbing-so bad her eyes are still rimmed red and her throat is sore- she wakes up feeling okay. Better than plausible, because her boys are there. And yeah, she has to pee, but she can hold it because she doesn't want to wake them up, not after last night where they coddled her until she finally fell asleep. So she can hold her bladder a little while longer, anything for the boys who've helped her more times than she can think.

**!&!**

First it's Jehan, then in turn it's Courf, and they get up and walk into the living room for one reason or another. Combeferre enters this state of kind-of-awake but clearly is trying to go back to sleep, but is failing badly. After a rather loud clatter from the other room she doesn't bother to think into, it's Gavroche, who knocks Grantaire, who kicks Bossuet, who falls off the bed, and then Bahroel is up and laughing, with Joly jumping up and accidentally squeezing Eponine's hand a little too hard.

"Joly," she says and winces. "Joly, let go of my hand, please."

He jumps again, and immediately releases her hand, apologizing and letting the melted ice pack fall to the mattress. He grabs her hand again, though gently, and inspects the bruises carefully. He tsks and Grantaire and Eponine share an eyeroll.

She asks, "What's the diagnosis doc? Am I gonna make it? No? Oh dear as me, someone call the town crier, tell them that poor little Eponine won't make it-oh, I can feel my heart slowing now!"

Joly makes a noise to protest against these childish actions, but Grantaire pops right in, grabbing Eponine's free hand and holding it to his heart. "Oh, how tragic! The loss of such an innocent young soul," Bahorel's snort is loud and Eponine giggles in turn. "How will we go on? Oh doctor, say it ain't so!"

From the other room, Jehan makes loud, fake, obnoxious sobbing noises and wails, "Oh no! Like a mist of rain after a thunderstorm, our dear Eponine is doomed! Courfeyrac, how will we go on! How can we part with the pureness that is our little 'Ponine!"

Bahorel snorts again and even Joly cracks a smile. The rest of the boys make loud sobbing noises, hollering to God, Allah, Shiva, and Beyonce that there is no justice in this world and Eponine gives a lovely goodbye speech before fainting onto her pillow. They stop the play when Feuilly bangs on the door and tells them to shut up, there are other people in the building. They burst out laughing, for far longer than necessary.

When they're done though, Joly speaks, in his high pitched voice, "Yes, well, you'll be just fine. Not even a fracture." And they start to laughing again.

**!&!**

Her knuckles do hurt though, and she lets Joly wrap them and puts ice on them even though it still stings. Grantaire gives her some "medicine" as well: coffee with Bailey's in it and she thanks him and drinks it all. It definitely helps.

It's seven in the morning and Eponine is sighing dramatically and yelling at Gavroche to finish getting dressed because it's Friday and he does have to get to school. No amount of protesting or busted knuckles will let him skip again.

"I'll drive him," Courfeyrac offers, and Eponine smiles and decides it's okay-Courfeyrac knows how to get Gav to school and can't be conned into letting him skip, but will probably bend and buy him a few donuts.

Everyone's busy getting ready for work or classes or, if your Bahorel, working out. It's only Grantaire and Eponine left laying on the couch and he brushes his knuckles against her shoulder and asks, "How are you doing?"

She feels tears prickle, but she doesn't let them run because her eyes just stopped hurting a few minutes ago. She replies, "Fine. Sore. Tired. God I'm tired, but there's no way I could find the energy to sleep."

Grantaire nods. "I get you. Don't worry, Musichetta gave me the whole day off. I'll be here." He's not really like this-not on real occasions. Eponine is teary from his sudden caring, and she crawls over, tucking herself in his side. She mumbles a thank you and he takes a drink of a beer he's working on. "It's okay-you'll be okay. I promise you will. You always are."

She closes her eyes to stop the tears and feels an anxious pulse fill her veins.


	2. Adaptation

**Chapter 2: Adaptation**

Enjolras has been in NYC for two days already, camping out in a Red Roof Inn while he desperately searches for a job. One night cost about fifty-five bucks though, meaning he is already out a hundred dollars that he needs to be saving for rent and food.

So, he sets out early the next morning, at about six AM because checkout is at ten and he prays he can find a more permanent residence before then so he doesn't have to pay for a whole other night.

His college degree is in political science, which is nice and all, but no one wants to hire a kid who has never really done anything. His only other job has been with his father in his business, and he can't put Mr. Enjolras down as a reference for several reasons. He's royally screwed and wondering where he can buy a decent sized box to live out of for a while, when he comes across Cafe Musain on the corner of Avenue B; he can see Avenue A and C from the very corner.

He likes the look of the large building in the middle of ABC. It's several stories high, with crackling bricks. The windows are painted with random things, some places have skulls and arrows, others have flowers and bows. The words "Cafe Musain" are painted eloquently though, and just on the door he sees the "HELP WANTED" sign pleading with him. He's never worked in a cafe, but anything at this point is better than the idea of living in a box. He hurries in, a gentle bell ringing above his head.

The room is huge, very spacious. There's a random arrangement of tables in it, and a few booths on the side. The ceiling is high with very bright lights shining down and he can see one corner of the area has a broken light. There's a stage all the way on the other side of the room with a grand piano, two guitars, two microphones, and a stool sitting on it. To his right, there's a long, black, slick bar with a glittering arrangement of bottles and glasses and a mirror reflecting his image back to his. There's a woman with black braided hair staring at him through the mirror; almond-shaped, blue eyes sparkling and a twist of glimmer in her smile.

"Welcome to Cafe Musain, how may I help you?" she asks. She turns then, and he's a bit taken aback by her beauty.

He feels nervous, and he blushes looking down. He approaches the bar and clears his throat. "I, ahem, I saw the help wanted sign outside?" He feels like an idiot. He glances up when she doesn't speak, and sees her eyebrows, thin and high, scrunched together.

"Help wanted sign?" she repeats, confusion evident in her voice. He nods and she looks to the front of the shop, then turns around and hollers, "FEUILLY! DID YOU PUT UP THE HELP WANTED SIGN _AGAIN_?" A girl at a nearby table jumps. The woman behind the bar turns her gaze to him, a scary smile shining at him. "Sorry, one second."

A man comes out the back door. Enjolras straightens up out of habit, but then tries to calm himself by reminding him this isn't Tennessee and he doesn't have to worry much anymore.

The man is tall, lean, with short cut hair, a five o'clock shadow at eight in the morning, and a tired expression in his brown eyes.

"_Yes,"_ he sighs. "I did, Musichetta. We need help."

He can see the woman's eyes widen in the reflection. "We already have nine other workers! Why do you want more?"

Enjolras watches patiently, worriedly.

"I'm tired of being the only one cleaning up during Dead Hour. None of _your_ other workers want to help, so I figured to get another. And plus we still have room for one more upstairs-I mean, assuming the kid needs a place to live."

"I do," Enjolras speaks up, sounding a little too desperate for his liking. He winces, and clears his throat, trying again. "I mean, yes, I do. I just moved here three days ago and I've been staying a motel while I try to find a job."

Musichetta turns to him again, her body leaning against the bar and a curious spark on her face. "Alright. Have you ever worked in a cafe?"

"No."

"A bar?"

"No."

"Anywhere?"

"I worked in my dad's store for a while-but I didn't stay long because I was going to college."

"What did you major in?"

"Political science."

"So you really have no real world experience?"

"Not really." He sighs, because he's back to wondering where he can buy a box. He's getting upset because can't get a job anywhere because he's never had any job experience and because he can't get a job because he's never had experience then he can never gain experience. It's a terrible cycle that's filling him with anxiety again.

Musichetta surprises him though by shrugging and saying, "I like him. What about you, Feuilly?"

Enjolras glances up and the guy is running a hand through his hair. "He'll be fine. I just need some actual _help_. What's your name?"

"Enjolras," he answers.

"That's it?" the man-Feuilly- says, his eyebrow arching.

But Enjolras shakes his head, and runs a hand through his short blonde hair. "I don't use my first name."

Feuilly nods, a kind of understanding gracing his face. "You'll fit in just fine."

**!&!**

Eponine's not left the apartment since Friday morning, her knuckles still sore and her mind still groggy. Grantaire stays with her the whole time, watching TV, cuddling, and drifting in and out of consciousness. He finishes off the six beers in the fridge, but doesn't touch the liquor and Eponine thanks him because she knows he's trying to remain as sober as possible for her sake.

Her knuckles still hurt, and the bruise is a nasty mix of red and black. She stops putting ice on them though, but let's Joly wrap them whenever he gets back from classes before he goes to sleep.

Jehan whispers in after he's done with his morning shift in the cafe on Monday morning and tells them both, "Feuilly hired a new worker."

Eponine blinks from where she's laying on Grantaire's chest on the stained, light blue couch, and cocks her head up a bit. Grantaire doesn't open his eyes, but she can tell by his breathing that he's awake. "Who?" she asks, her voice still hoarse from the night before.

Jehan shrugs, "I was on break when it happened. His names Enjolras, he just moved here from the south, and Musichetta says he's pretty cute."

"Joly and Bossuet will love to hear that," Grantaire mumbles and Eponine chuckles.

"Why did they hire him?" Eponine asks, because she distinctly remembers Musichetta saying "That's it! No more!" after hiring Marius part time. She was up to the brim with "employees" who sometimes caused more trouble than $7.25 per hour plus room and board. Musichetta loves them dearly though, so she doesn't mind. She just, last Eponine heard, didn't want anymore of them.

Jehan lays on the shaggy, blush pink rug (which is stained with paint and charcoal from Grantaire and Gavroche's several art accidents and gross to look at but beautiful to feel) and starts to unbraid his hair. "Feuilly wanted another worker-he gets tired being the only cleaning up during the late Dead Hours."

Eponine winces, sitting up on Grantaire and looking down at her knuckles. "Oh shit. That was my shift yesterday."

Jehan shakes his head and reaches up to grab her wrist. "No. No one's mad at you. Don't worry." Grantaire grumbles in agreeance. Eponine though, is still in a set of turmoil and pushes herself off R, causing him to grunt in response.

"I'll work tonight," she says, stepping over Jehan and going to the kitchen. Jehan sits up and shakes his head, telling her no she doesn't have to, but she says, "I should. I can't just lay around all day _again_."

"Why not?" Grantaire whines from the couch and drinks the last drops of the beer in his hand.

She chuckles, and opens up the fridge door. Only her, Grantaire, and Gavroche live in this apartment, and their taste buds all fall in the same suit so the fridge is never an exciting adventure. There's milk, old pizza, carrots, ketchup, water, and a space left for the beer that's officially gone (there's other stuff, of course, but these are the dominant things in Eponine's mind). She reaches in, past the milk, and grabs a bottle of water and swallow all of it in three gulps. She hasn't really had any decent hydration in a few days, and it's a wonder Joly hasn't jumped down her throat about it.

She throws the empty bottle in the trashcan, goes back in the living room, and approaches the long haired boy sitting on the floor. "When's southern boy moving in?" she asks.

Jehan smiles and looks at a clock on the wall beside them. "She said he'd be back by one, so I guess he'll be here soon."

Eponine shrugs.

**!&!**

The traffic in New York is fucking crazy, Enjolras swears. The walk from the Red Roof Inn to Alphabet City would take way too long, and he thought a cab would go faster. He's wrong, of course, because the line of cars is long a ridiculous and it's already 12:45 and there's another thirty minutes to get there, so he throws some money at the cab and gets out, preferring to walk anyways.

He gets to Cafe Musain at 1:15 and he winces, because punctuality is important, but he remembers to exhale and relax because this isn't like home-his old home, that is.

The bell jingles above the door again when he walks in, and this time he sees a boy with long dirty blonde hair tied into a braid sitting at the counter, sipping on a coffee cup and writing in a leather bound book. One of his new coworkers, he reasons and pulls his suitcase in towards the bar. The boy looks up, his eyes these spectacular shades of blue-kind of like the sky at twilight and Enjolras is a bit caught off guard.

"Hi, I'm the new worker? Feuilly and Musichetta hired me this morning." Enjolras hates sounding nervous and confused, but he can't help it. His adjustment to New York hasn't fully set in and all he feels is nervous and confused. He hates it and hopes it shakes off soon.

The boys incredibly blue eyes light up and he stands up straight saying, "You must be Enjolras! My, you _are_ cute!" Enjolras blushes a shade pink before hearing a voice hollar from the back:

"Hey now!" It's loud, and a little offended, but not mean and Enjolras is really confused now.

"No, come here and look!" The boy cries, not tearing his eyes away from their assessment of the new boy. Enjolras shifts and the boys says quickly, "My name's Jean Prouveire, by the way. You can call me Jehan, though. I work here and I live upstairs-I live a floor above you."

"Oh," Enjolras nods, but he shifts and suddenly his backpack feels much heavier. It's filled strictly with books and toiletry items, so it's a wonder it's just started to hurt him.

A boy bustles out of the back, carrying a box that reads "NAPKINS" upside down on it. He has a black mass of curls, a set gentle brown eyes, and when he smiles his cheeks fill and puff up. He looks up and down Enjolras and said boy feels incredibly intruded upon, but he doesn't move because he's never been in a place where boys check out other boys because Cookeville, Tennessee prides itself on its lack of boys who check out other boys openly.

The boy nods and looks at Jehan and says, "Alright. I'll allow it." Then walks behind him and goes to a table to open the box.

"Thanks babe!" Jehan calls and looks back and Enjolras and winks. "That's Courfeyrac. We're in love, but we allow ourselves the indulgence of looking."

"Oh," Enjolras replies and the bookbag feels incredibly heavy now. "So you both work here?"

"Yup. So do," then he starts to ramble off names Enjolras keeps up with best he can-Grantaire, Bossuet, Eponine, and Marius are the only ones he truly catches and remembers. There are others, but they get lost in the list and Enjolras figures he'll meet them all later. "Oh, and Combeferre; you'll be rooming with him. He's not come back from class yet-he's a college boy." Jehan rolls his twilight blue eyes and makes a gesture to Enjolras. "I'll let you in. None of the doors have locks, so it won't be a problem-just make sure you don't touch any of his stuff. He's a little picky." He turns to the black haired boy and yells, "I'm going to show Enjolras upstairs! Be back in a few!"

"Enjoy your shag!" Courfeyrac teases and Enjolras blushes more.

"Happily!" And then Jehan is directing Enjolras to the door he's seen people enter through in the back. There's a room to the right side, and on the left there's a set of stairs and the light above them flickers on and off before finally staying lit. "We really have to fix that," Jehan mumbles under his breath and starts walking up the stairs.

**!&!**

Eponine pulls out a cigarette from her army jacket, pushing the stick between her lips and holding it carefully as she lights it up. She shoots a quick text to Combeferre, reminding him it's his turn to buy cigarettes because she picked up a pack for them to share last time. It's much cheaper sharing pack-by-pack with Combeferre, an agreement her and the med-student agreed to about a year ago. The plan originally started as a way to limit the number of cigarettes they could have, so as they could both quit. They can't though, a vice she can't seem to scratch away. She exhales slowly.

The school across the street rings loudly and a minute later children are running out and yelling and she exhales again. She pushes herself off the bench she's been sitting on as Gavroche runs across the street towards her. She smiles and pushes her aviator sunglasses on top of her head and smiles at him after she exhales again.

"Hey Sis," he smiles brightly, the crooks in his teeth prominent and twinkling

"Hey," she replies, using her good hand to ruffle his hair. "I can't believe you guys got out early because of a gas leak." Gavroche shrugs and she twitches her head to the side and they begin walking back to the Cafe as he tells her of how one of his teacher's toupees fell off while he was yelling at a student for forgetting her homework. She laughs and stops to buy him a burrito from a food truck. He asks how her hand is feeling and she shows him she can form a weak fist without it hurting.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there," he confesses after she puts out her cigarette.

"Don't be," she says it nonchalantly, because she doesn't want him to worry about it. He will, but she doesn't want him too. "You know I can handle myself- hey come on now." She wraps her arm around his shoulders and is surprised by how much he's grown. He's fourteen now, and she feels like its just a few days ago he was small enough for her to carry on her hip and run with- run barefoot through crowded streets because life was sketchy back then.

They get to the Cafe just as Gav finishes his burrito and she sees its Joly maiming the cafe with a rush of after school crowds. She chuckles as he throws away a pair of gloves just to put on another.

"Hey Joly," she giggles, going to clean some trash off an empty table.

"Ponine!" He bellows, almost crying. "Please help-Musichetta's been on the phone with the suppliers for an hour and Bossuet got a nosebleed just before the-thank you have a nice day- crowd came in." He starts taking an order and Eponine giggles and finishes cleaning the table off.

She goes behind the bar counter to start making the order and asks, "Where's the new southern boy?"

"We decided to let him spend some time with Combeferre so we let them go pick up some things we're out of because the suppliers-yes thank you have a nice day- didn't come by today."

They don't talk much more, Joly takes orders and Eponine makes them, as fast as she can with her still roughed hand. It's still shades of red and black, though blue tinges the sides.

_It'll heal, _she thinks. _They will always heal._

**!&!**

Combeferre doesn't seem to mind Enjolras, and Enjolras is glad. Combeferre is a nice guy with wispy blonde-brown hair and bulky black glasses. He's a med student, 21 and still studying on how to better the world. He tells Enjolras he's not that messy of a person, and sighs in relief when Enjolras says he's the same way.

"That's good. I don't mind clutter, but I hate when it gets to be too much. I lived in a room with Courf for awhile- he's a nice guy, one of my best friends but, oh the messes. He'd pile dishes in the sink until they spilled out onto the floor. It was a nightmare." They both laugh as Combeferre pulls back into alleyway where Feuilly keeps his car, an old Mercedes that's mostly black but has a passenger door, that everyone uses because it's easier to have everyone chip in for gas than have several cars cluttering the small parking lot. They get out and Enjolras carries three boxes they had to pick up a few miles away from a broken down supplier truck.

Joly and Bossuet are cleaning off tables together, rather closely and kissing the other's cheeks, and Enjolras is again thrown off because he's from a place where this world is vulgar and mentioning it is enough to get you tied to the football post in your underwear and drenched by the water hose.

Enjolras shudders from the memory, and goes to put the boxes on the bar. No customers are there, which Enjolras finds weird because people were grazing in and out all morning during his training with Jehan. He asks why no one's there and the Bossuet explains.

"This is one of the Dead Hours. I'm guessing no one's explained the entirety of what goes on here?" Enjolras shrugs and Bossuet sits down on a chair with uneven legs and sighs. "Okay. So the Cafe is opened twenty hours a day. Five AM to three PM is breakfast and lunch. Four PM to seven PM is the dinner shift. Eight PM to three AM is the party shift. All the hours in between are called 'Dead Hours'. Got it?"

"Shit," Enjolras sighs. "That's a lot of work."

"It's really cool though, that's why Musichetta does it. It's a lot of fun once you get use to the stress." Bossuet smiles and Joly nods agreeingly.

"It does get tiring though," Combeferre adds in as he starts unpacking boxes. "And I think Feuilly wants you working tonight, so you'll want to sleep through the Dinner shift."

"Okay. Want me to help you finish unpacking?" He looks over at Combeferre who waves him off as he starts filling up salt shakers. He smiles and waves and walks out, leaving the boys to clean in silence.

"I like him," Joly says simply. "He's a little quiet."

"He'll warm up- southern boys always do. Isn't that right Mississippi?" Combeferre says and smirks over at Bossuet, who properly flips him off.

**!&!**

Eponine wakes up right at the beginning of the dinner shift to see Grantaire getting dressed in work clothes and drinking vodka from a bottle. His room is on the other side of the apartment (which is really only five steps away), but it's the tiniest one and he can't keep his dresser in there, and his closet is meant for art supplies and random shit he buys at flea markets. So, he keeps his dresser and clothes in Eponine's room, which is the biggest.

"You're working tonight?" she asks mid yawn, and it's mostly unintelligible, but Grantaire has known her long enough to figure it out.

He nods. "Yeah, I figured I'd make sure you're okay." She starts to protest but he holds up his hand and shakes his head. "No, Ep, stop. I just want to make Montra-ass doesn't make a cameo. Plus I haven't worked in, like, three days, I probably should. Kay?"

She pouts but agrees and stands up to start changing. She's tired of sleeping, but she definitely needed a nap before starting an all night shift. She can eat through the dinner shift then help out the rest of the night, a good enough plan to get by.

"I met the new kid," Grantaire tells her, walking out of her room and into the bathroom. "He's cute."

Eponine's eyebrows go up and she shimmies into a pair of shorts as she asks, "Really? What's he like?"

"Okay I guess. He's pretty shy - he needed a pair of earplugs so he could sleep through the dinner shift." The toilet flushes and he comes back out to finish his vodka.

"Awe," Eponine giggles and runs a brush through her hair quickly. "Southern boys are so cute. Where's Gavroche?" she asks because she's in the living room now and sees he's not sitting on the couch watching TV or doing his homework.

Grantaire follows her out and goes to throw his now empty bottle away. "He's downstairs-some of his friends stopped by."

"Okay," she smiles because she's glad he's enjoying his life with friends and things. "I hope his friends are nice. I need to meet them, right?" The thing about Eponine is that even though she's raised Gavroche since he was a baby, she's not really a mom. She's twenty-one and still can't find it in her to scold Gav when he does things like get his entire class to protest the last test scores by standing on their chairs. She should be mad, yell at him and tell him it's wrong to disrespect teachers and say things like, "Maybe if you had studied more" because she's not suppose to understand his problems. But the thing is she was so fucking impressed that she gave her younger brother a high-five while all the other parents yelled at their children. She's not suppose to be a mom-not now, at least.

"I don't know." Grantaire's not suppose to be a parent right now either. The only one good at this is Combeferre and Musichetta-and they both have better shit to do. "Wanna get some dinner?" Eponine nods.

**!&!**

Enjolras was woken up ten minutes ago by Combeferre, who was going to sleep.

"Time for work. If you're hungry, tell Musichetta. She'll make you dinner. If not you'll have to wait till Dead Hour." Combeferre is speaking loudly from the living room, where Enjolras groggily follows him out.

"What time is it?" the blonde boy asks, a quip of his southern accent coming out before he pushes it back down. He clears his throat, and asks again.

"8:30. I meant to wake you up earlier, sorry. I just got caught up doing my homework," Combeferre is drinking a big glass of milk and Enjolras notices the other boy is just wearing a pair of sweatpants, but it doesn't register fully because Enjolras is putting on clothes a guy named Bahorel deemed work appropriate.

_"There's not really a dress code here," Bahorel had said with a heavy english accent. "You just gotta make sure you don't look like a hillbilly. New York's a little different from Tennessee," He was right, by how much no one could really know besides Enjolras._

Now, Enjolras is wearing a pair of jeans with holes in the middle, an old Blink-182 t-shirt, and a flannel shirt overtop. It's an outfit he wears all the time - but it feels different here, in New York. He looks different, in a bathroom with low lighting and a boy he hadn't known before today sleeping in a room next to him.

He runs down the stairs, hearing an angry growl in his stomach. He hasn't had a real meal since he had left Tennessee, and it would be nice to have something like a burger to fill him up. He gets out to the main room and sees a few of the people he had met earlier. Jehan is wiping off a table while Bahorel sweeps the stage and Musichetta stands in behind the bar with a clipboard. Enjolras approaches her, and she lifts her head and smiles at him.

"Morning southern boy!" she cheers. "How did you sleep?"

"Fine," he says. "Um, Combeferre said if I was hungry I could ask you?" His hands go in his pockets because he's still not sure how this place works. _I just have to catch on,_ he tells himself.

"Oh! Sure! Have you ate at all today?" she asks, giving him her full attention suddenly and he blushes.

"Yeah, I mean, I had a muffin before I went to bed." A muffin Jehan offered him mid training that he couldn't refuse because his stomach had rattled so loud the boy with long hair had giggled.

"Oh, hun. You're gonna have to get assertive here - you'll starve if you don't." She looks back to her clipboard and then starts speaking much quicker and sharper - suddenly more boss than new friend. "Go to the kitchen and ask R to teach you how to cook a burger-quick, we have a big party coming in at opening and I need everyone's help. You'll be cleaning and learning tonight and I can't have you hungry. Go!"

Enjolras jumps and runs off to the kitchen, happy to satisfy his hunger.

**!&!**

Gavroche is finally in bed at 9:00 and Eponine is dressed for work at 9:10 - deciding on a black tanktop with a flower print and a long purple skirt which she sewed from five different types of fabric. She needs to be comfortable tonight, she decides, and this outfit always makes her feel better.

She runs down the stairs, passing Joly, who is in his pajamas and yawning. She laughs and he tells her huffily that he had to inform Musichetta to _not_ wake him up when her shift was over because he just got a text saying his final exam has been moved to seven AM instead of ten.

"Assholes," he mutters and starts to ascend the stairs again. "Good luck tonight."

"Thanks," she cheers, running down the stairs again.

She can hear the commotion through the door already, and her blood starts pumping. It feels like her first night all over again, and she glances down at her hand. Roughed and bruised, but healing. Healing, that's what she has to remember.

**!&!**

The first time he sees her, he's stacking glasses, the cafe-turned-bar's loud and dark. She's leaning over the side of the bar staring at him and smiling her, her left handed folded in front of her right. He doesn't really notice her - long hair, dark eyes, tan skin. But somehow he knows she's the last coworker he hasn't met. "I'm Eponine," she confirms, yelling over the noise of other people. "You must be the new southern boy Feuilly picked out."

He let's a smile twitch at his lips. He nods, and continues stacking glasses, because Musichetta said this had to be done in five minutes. "I'm Enjolras. It's nice to meet you," he says, his voice steady and even.

"Where's your southern accent?" she asks, a giggle in her tone that makes him smile more.

"I left it in Tennessee," he answers, the last glass clinking on the shelf loudly, but not louder than the laugh that erupts from her.

"You'll fit in good," she promises, and he turns to look at her, still leaning over the counter and now he's holding an empty box and feeling okay - like maybe, he will fit in. Maybe he'll adapt. Maybe he can stay here for awhile.

He replies, his eyes holding hers. Loud music starts to shake the room, thumping the walls and floors. And he yells, "I hope."

* * *

**AN: **Thank you for all the positive feed back! Follow me on my tumblr for updates, if you'd like! theonewhowrites +


	3. Powerpoint Not Included

**Chapter 3: Powerpoint Not Included**

She agrees - Southern Boy is pretty cute. Golden hair, shaded blue eyes, and a smile that shines. He's cute and she won't deny it. He doesn't seem as nervous as she's been told though, in fact his "I hope" had sounded definite. She smiles wider, and he returns it. His smile is nice, and she looks forward to knowing the Southern Boy Enjolras.

Musichetta yells over a loud thump of music, and it occurs to Eponine that maybe they've been smiling at each other a little too long. "Hey! Southern Boy! If you're done then put the box up and go clean off the booths! Ep, are you performing or what?"

Enjolras moves, taking the box and going into the kitchen - probably to throw the box in the trash and grab a rag. Eponine nods to older woman and then yells at Jehan, who has been watching the interaction between Eponine and Enjolras intently (she can hear the stanzas in his head already), to come with her. He pushes himself over to counter, winking at a startled young boy. They make their way to the stage, and start setting up. As they do a young boy, maybe sixteen, comes over and asks for them to play a song for his sister. "She was fired today, she needs a pick up, just something to make her smile again," he tells them and points to a girl sitting at the bar. She's frowning at a bottle of beer and Eponine says she knows a good song for it. He thanks them and runs off, back to his sister.

They set up two microphones and stools. Eponine tries to see if she can play the guitar, but her hand cramps and it comes out rough, so Jehan says he'll just play. She thanks him, and they set up a small set list of just acoustic since only Jehan can play one thing at a time. Eponine takes a seat, positioning the microphone and tapping it a few times. She spots Enjolras in the corner, wiping a table down with a good pace.

"He's picking it up pretty quick," Eponine says to Jehan with her hand over the microphone. "Musichetta told me earlier that he's never had another job."

Jehan nods and starts tuning the guitar. "Yeah, he was really good during the lunch shift this morning. I only had to correct him once on how to make a frappuccino." He looks over at the raven haired girl. "You like him?"

She shrugs. "Seems alright. I don't think I'll mind him."

"Just don't fall in love with him," he jokes and she starts glaring.

"I'd punch you if my hand wasn't bruised already." Jehan smiles toothily and taps his microphone.

**!&!**

"Hey is this working?" he hears her voice chim throughout the room. He looks up to the stage where Eponine and Jehan are sitting on stools, a guitar balanced on Jehan's lap. "Hey, it is, that's good. Well hey everyone, how's Monday been treating you?" There's a couple of "boos" and Eponine gives a sympathetic frown. "Well, hopefully it'll get better. As some of you know I'm Eponine and this is Jehan, my lovely partner in rhyme. We're not really a band, but we sound pretty good together. Unfortunately I can't play guitar tonight due to my poor hand," she lifts up her right hand, and Enjolras is shocked to see her skin - a baked brown on the rest of her body - is dark shades of red with purple hues around the edges. The bruises are ugly and his own hand clenches as if to subside any idea of the pain.

"What happened?" someone in the crowd calls out, and Enjolras shakes away his gaze to watch her face, she's smiling but suddenly she looks unbalanced.

"Smashed it in a car door," she rolls her eyes and tries to laugh it off, but Enjolras can tell it's a pitch off from the laugh she used when they talked earlier. It's more forced, less willing. He shakes it off, because it's none of his business, and goes to wipe down the next table.

"Well," she starts again. "Luckily my voice is still perfect. We just got a request for a song to cheer up someone. So I hope this works." She looks to Jehan, who nods and starts to play his guitar. The music is soft, gentle, but uplifting and Enjolras smiles as Eponine starts to sing.

"_Three little birds_

_Sat on my window,_

_And they told me I don't need to worry."_

He's heard this song once or twice, but Eponine's voice adds a new ring to it - more sense of grasp. He likes her voice, it makes him smile as he wipes the stench of spilled drinks off a table.

**!&!**

Jehan joins in for the chorus, his voice soft but enhancing the sound.

"_Girl put your records on_

_Tell me your favourite song_

_You go ahead, let your hair down."_

Eponine feels good, comfortable, steady. She'll be okay. This is what she's suppose to do. She doesn't need Montparnasse - she needs a way to survive on her own with Gavroche following beside her. She glances at her knuckles. They hurt, but they'll be okay. Everything will be okay.

She smiles at Jehan, who winks in reply, and they continue to sing.

**!&!**

Enjolras just finishes up the last booth when he sees Feuilly jump over the counter and grab a boy who has just walked in by the counter. Musichetta follows Feuilly and the boy who Enjolras can't see outside and before he's done trying to realize what happened, they're back inside.

He wants to ask, but it's not really his place. So he goes to the kitchen, smiling at the stage as Eponine and Jehan continue to sing. They sound good together, and he's very fond of this type of music. He's glad this is where he's going to work.

When he gets in the kitchen, Grantaire is cooking french fries and drinking wine and Enjolras dumps the towel in the mop sink. "Do you guys have a person limit?" he asks, trying to sound absently curious as he starts washing dishes.

Grantaire shrugs. "Not really. If we get too busy we'll have someone - usually Bahorel - start making a line. It doesn't get too busy though. Why?"

Enjolras shrugs, looking back to the soapy water and glasses he's cleaning out. "Nothing. I think Feuilly and Musichetta just kicked someone out though. I was curious."

"Shit," the other man sighs and rubs his forehead roughly. "Was it a guy?"

"Yeah. Do you know who it was?" He's not meaning to be nosy, but his curiosity is boiling and he can't quite calm it down.

"Mhm," Grantaire noises and starts back to cooking. "You said Musichetta already kicked him out right?"

"Yeah," Enjolras confirms, looking away. "Her and Feuilly. I didn't see him myself - dark hair, that was it."

"Yeah, that's Montparnasse. He's an asshole. Don't let him in, if you ever see him."

"What'd he do?"

Grantaire doesn't answer right away. He sighs, shaking the fries into a basket and let's out long sigh. He looks to Grantaire, their eyes locking and Enjolras can hear the conflict going on in the other boy's mind.

"It's not my story," Grantaire says eventually. "I can't tell it. But Montparnasse is an asshole, and I will let you know he's the reason Eponine's hand is fucked up."

**!&!**

The night goes really well. Jehan and Eponine rack it up in tips, and Enjolras is only slightly overwhelmed. He's pretty sure he got felt up at one point, but he gets a twenty dollar tip "just because", so he's not complaining.

It's trickling closer to 3AM, and Musichetta is slowly starting to serve people their last beer and calling cabs. Feuilly is teaching Enjolras how to mix the mop water so that he doesn't waste cleaning supplies, and Grantaire is serving Eponine a hamburger made to her specific needs ("Ketchup, two pickles, one piece of lettuce, and the buns just _slightly_ burned because _wow the crunch and mix is just so good_," he teased when he gave it to her). Bahroel is suppose to be checking for personal items to put in the "Forgotten and Acquired" box; he's fallen asleep on the couch though, but no one is bothering him because he's Bahorel and waking Bahorel up is scary for everyone. Jehan received a text around 2:30 from Courf and ran up the stairs with a tired good night ("Nightmares," was all Enjolras heard Feuilly mumble under his breath).

The last customer, an old man who fell asleep at the bar, leaves at 3:16 and Musichetta sighs and locks the doors.

"Well, darlings, that's it for me," she bows dramatically, before walking past everyone to the backroom. "Hope you had a lovely time Enjolras. I'll get you a shift made up soon, but for now just try and sleep and wake up. Okay?"

He nods, and smiles a little. She smiles back before trotting up the stairs and Enjolras sighs and looks down at the floor to continue mopping. Feuilly is taking inventory now, mumbling under his breath and everyone else is talking (or snoring, in Bahorel's case) quietly and Enjolras is very fond of the hum of noise. He tunes out the specific words Eponine and Grantaire speak, but just listens to the buzz of their voices.

Eponine's voice is very nice, very calm and soothing and it's because of that, that when she calls his name he doesn't jump. He turns to face her, and she's smiling at him and gestures for him to join her and Grantaire at the bar. He looks at Feuilly but Eponine waves the older man off and Enjolras decides it's okay for him to take a minute for a break.

He walks over to the black haired dou and sits down on the stool Eponine pats. He looks at her curiously and she smiles, saying, "Have a good night, Southern Boy?"

Enjolras's lips curl at the friendly nickname she's placed on him, and he nods and says, "Yeah. Pretty good. I like working here," he tells her honestly, and glances at Grantaire who smiles friendly.

"Good," she says and takes another bite of her burger. She takes a second to wipe some ketchup off of her fingers, licking it with her tongue and Enjolras yawns and looks away. "Are you hungry?" she asks, calling for all of his attention. He looks at her and then at Feuilly's back, wondering if he can have a full lunch break, because the truth is he's _starving. _The burger he had earlier was good, but he's been on his feet for quite a few hours now, so he's back to being more hungry than anything. "Oh don't mind him," she says. "Feuilly, can't Southern Boy have some food? You've been working him like a dog all night."

"Yeah, yeah," Feuilly replies without looking at them. "Just don't take too long. Floor ain't going to mop itself and I'm sure as hell not going to mop it."

"Thanks dad," Eponine and Grantaire say simultaneously and in high pitched, little kid voices that make Enjolras jump in surprise. They laugh when Feuilly flips them off and Enjolras smiles and asks what they have besides burgers.

"Ugh, I don't know. Barbecue, chicken, other shit," Grantaire says and takes a long swig out of a bottle. "What do you want?"

"Anything, honestly," Enjolras replies and he can feel his stomach quiver at the idea of food. "I can go make something." He starts to stand up, but Eponine pushes him down by the shoulder.

"No, no. Stay here, I haven't gotten to know you. R will make you something, won't you doll?" She glances at the curly haired boy with wine stained breath and flutters her lashes. He sighs, but takes another quick sip and says, "Sure whatever" before getting up and going to the kitchen. "Thanks!" she hollers, and she looks back to the boy with curly blonde-red hair. "So, Enjolras. How are you liking Cafe Musain?"

"Uh, fine," he says and chuckles because he feels like he's suddenly in an review interview. "I mean, it's nice. You guys are really nice."

She snorts before taking another bite of her burger. "I don't know if 'nice' is the word I would use. Overly abrasive and friendly, on some people's parts. Have you met everyone yet?"

He nods, staring at food in her hands a bit longingly. "Yeah, I think. There was a guy named, um, Marius who I only met for a minute before I went to bed, and then I met you-"

"Obviously."

His smile twitches. "Yes, well, that should be everyone. I met Gavroche too; he's your little brother, right?" She nods, finishing her burger off with a full mouth. "Yeah, he was going back upstairs when I was coming down. How old is he?"

"Uh, fourteen," Eponine says before taking a long drink of her Pepsi. "His birthday is next month. Fifteen, gosh." She shakes her head, a sad smile sitting in her heart. She looks at Enjolras and asks, "What about you? How old are you?"

"Twenty-one, as of two months ago."

"Nice. Did you party hard?" He shrugs. "Well, next birthday we'll throw you a great one. I mean, assuming you stick around."

He doesn't know how to reply, which is okay because Grantaire walks out the next second with a plate of chicken wings and Enjolras has to stop himself from actually drooling. They smell heavenly and he barely gets "thank you" out before he scarfs the first one down his throat. "These are great," he says without swallowing and Eponine giggles before sliding her half-empty glass of Pepsi toward the boy. He takes it thankfully and drink most of it in two gulps.

"Damn, Southern Boy," Eponine giggles. "Hungry?"

"I haven't had chicken wings in years - I forgot how good they were." He eats two more in less than a minute. "Shit, these are good." He says this without thinking, and for minute his accent (one he's worked his entire life to beat off) quips out and he hopes they didn't hear the twang, but Eponine's noise of surprise tells him he's wrong.

"Ah! Is that an accent I heard?" She giggles again and continues to tease him as he tries to brush it off on a full mouth. She pokes his shoulders, asking him to let it out again, but he's very embarrassed by the way it makes his words sound, so he waves her off and tries to change the subject.

"Hey so, thanks for making me these chicken wings again," he says to Grantaire, over Eponine, who continues to prod him. Grantaire nods and smiles, and opens a beer bottle to offer him. Enjolras isn't feeling it tonight though, so he shakes his head and watches as Eponine snatches it out of Grantaire's hand suddenly. He throws her a light glare and she winks and leans back against his arm, taking a long swig out of the bottle. Enjolras smiles at the two and takes another bite of a chicken wing. "So, how long have you two been dating?" he asks nonchalantly.

Eponine sputters into the bottle and Grantaire and Feuilly bursts out laughing at the same moment. Enjolras looks up suddenly, eyes wide and watches as Eponine coughs and wipes her mouth off, a grin on her cheeks. "Oh god," she coughs. "Oh, that's hilarious, _shit_," she gives a last big cough and Grantaire pats her on the back. "Hilarious. Oh, classic. What makes you think we're dating, Southern Boy?"

He's blushing, flustered at the idea his assumption was so wrong they're laughing at him. "Um, I mean - I just. You two live together and you're really, uh, close," he stutters out, looking away intently.

"Awe, no, it's okay. I mean, I guess that's logical," Eponine says, her hand going to pat him on the back. She looks to Grantaire with a twinkle in her eye and tips the beer back down her throat.

"We've been friends since we were fourteen," Grantaire tells the blushing boy. "We're just close, naturally. Even if she is a pest most of the time."

"Ha ha, hilarious," Eponine rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out, earning her, in Grantaire's eyes, a pinch that she slaps away before bursting into another set of giggles. Her eyes cast back over to Enjolras, who's looking at them with a knit brow. It hits her that not everyone lives in worlds where people and actually be primarily _friends_ and not actually have any notion of romance behind their playful exterior. She smiles at him sadly and places the beer bottle, half-empty, in front of Grantaire. "Okay, let's go over dynamics. Who do you think is dating among our incestious family?"

"Um," a few minutes ago, Enjolras felt like he could make a good few guesses, but now the only one he feels sure about is Courfeyrac and Jehan, and that's because they told him. He shakes his head, and eats up another chicken wing instead. He can feel her smiling at him and giggling in her brown eyes.

"Okay, let's break it down," she says, situating herself promptly on the bar stool and calling for attention. "Jehan and Courfeyrac are happily and sickeningly in love. They don't live together because of this fight they had a year ago but that's not important. Joly and Bousset-"

"I feel like you should have a powerpoint up," Grantaire mumbles and she swats at his arm to keep him quiet.

"Joly and Bousset live together and are so in love with each other it's gross. Plus they date Musichetta. Okay? So our lovely JMB are in a polygamous relationship and cuddle and love the fuck out of each other."

"See, a powerpoint would be really cool. You could have a hidden point that explains what 'polygamous' means and-"

"Shuuuuush," she scolds before starting again. "Feuilly over there is our loving and asexual father who hates us 82% of the time. Right?"

"Right," the man chimes.

"Bahorel over there who's dead asleep, he told me once he is 'bisexual-leaning-towards-girls-but-hey-guys-can-b e-really-hot-so-yeah-bisexual' So I guess bisexual-heteroromantic? I don't know, he's just a guy. He also has a major boner for R's sister."

Grantaire winces and shakes his head. "Please don't ever say that again."

"You have a sister?" Enjolras asks, trying not to focus on the vast amount of sexual orientation information he's having shoved on him.

"Yeah," Grantaire nods. "She goes to NYU. She comes by a lot, I'm sure you'll meet her."

"She's great," Eponine cheers, smiling wide. "Super cute. And Bahorel has a major boner for her."

"Jesus Christ, stop 'Ponine," he whines and looks directly away from the couch Bahorel is snoring on.

She shakes her head before turning back to Enjolras and continuing, "But he's single, most nights. Let's see, next is Combeferre, who's hetero-everything, and quite frankly if I hadn't banged him myself I would think he's not attracted to anything. He's so into school. Did he tell you he's training to be a surgeon? He's crazy." She shakes her head and Enjolras smiles, remembering how endlessly Combeferre talked about his hectic class schedule. "Okay, then there's R here. Single, last I checked." She looks to him with a smile and raised eyebrow which he shakes his head too.

"Yes, still single," he answers. "I told you, that guy was just a one-time thing."

"What_ever_," Eponine sighs. She looks back to Enjolras and tells him quickly, "There was this guy in here last week - he's been here a few times before and he has a habit of _staring_ at Grantaire. Then the poor boy finally talked to him and they went out and I didn't see Grantaire till the next morning."

"One night stand," the man says dully.

"Really? Because I'm pretty sure one-night-stand protocol doesn't call for him to bring back a ratty old bracelet you left in his bathroom. Right?" This question is directed at Enjolras, who's trying to keep up with the pile of information being thrown his way. He says nothing, but Eponine answers for him. "Right. Okay. I think that's everyone."

Grantaire raises his eyebrow and says, "Really? Sure you're not forgetting anyone?" She scrunches her brow, and he rolls his eyes. "Pontmercy? You met Marius?" this question is directed to Enjolras, who nods, but can't help but notice the frigid stillness in Eponine's shoulders.

"Right," she whispers. "How'd I forget Marius."

"Not sure," Grantaire mumbles, before looking over her head. "Marius is single, trying to become an immigration lawyer, and full-heartedly infatuated with the daughter of an investor of the Musain. Darling Cosette, that's her name. Tell me 'Ponine, what do you think of her?"

Her stare is sarcastic and unnecessary, and she looks at Grantaire with a hint of loathing that she can't really feel to him. He smiles, laughter in his dimples and Eponine rolls her eyes. She's no problem with Cosette, not really. She tells Enjolras, "She's great. Smart, funny, very pretty. Can't see why Marius wouldn't love her."

Enjolras isn't stupid or blind, he sees that hint of despair in Eponine's eyes. Little hints of unresolved bitterness. She only lets him have a peek, because in the next moment she's up, off the stool and walking around the bar to the tap. Her body sways and she stops for a moment to flick Grantaire in the back of the ear. He rolls his eyes and gets up, going over to the couch Bahorel is lounged across. Enjolras looks back to Eponine, to see her grabbing a beer bottle from under the sink and opening it with a ring on her hand. He looks up at her, smiles, and asks, "What about you?"

"Me?" she says, surprised. It doesn't dawn on her to remember herself, and apparently Grantaire hadn't thought to bring her up either. "Me? Well, I'm a lovely young lass who's into men and trying to survive raising a brother I'm barely older than. And I'm single, as of recent." She takes a sip of her beer, holding it in her left hand and leaving her right hand on the bar, bruises shining in the light.

Enjolras can't help it, his eyes are drawn to the blues and reds that glitter her knuckles. She looks down, as if forgetting for a moment of her new imperfection. She grimaces and they catch each other's gaze. She nods. "Yeah, this is a result from the break up. A nice little reminder. I didn't lie, by the way, on stage earlier. It did get closed in a car door." She flexes her fingers, feeling a small sting because they are still soar. She looks at Enjolras who's looking away. He apologizes, says he didn't mean to intrude. She smiles though and shrugs, because she's not good at keeping her drama to herself. He smiles at her, and they both stare at eachother for a minute. She coughs, lightly looking away before asking, "What about you, Enjolras? Any secret love affairs you've acquired here in the city? Long distance relationship to your Tennessee sweetheart?"

He chuckles, running his fingers through his golden strands. "No. I haven't dated anyone in a while. My, uh, my dad wasn't a fan of my taste people."

"Sucks," she says. "Oh, let me guess. Rocker girl with pink hair and a tattoo on her back that said 'fuck you' in different languages?"

He laughs, heartily at that. "No, I wish. Would have been a better reason to get kicked out versus running away." She raises her eyebrow to this, and he shakes his head. She curious though, and a curious Eponine who's also tired, can't be stopped.

Feuilly yells, "Enjolras! Come in here and help with the dishes!" Enjolras stands up, grabbing his empty plate and Pepsi that once belonged to Eponine. She's not done though, so she pushes herself on the counter, making him stop and look at her.

Eponine leans over the counter, her breath heavy and her throat sore. It chills him, down under his skin. She says, "What's wrong with you, Southern Boy? Why'd you run? You have to tell me."

Enjolras pulls away, staring at her mischievous grin. Has to tell her, she said. He thinks, because he does. He has to tell her, and he will, one day. For now he walks away from her hazy eyes - walks away as he always does, because facing a problem is hard. Running away? That's the easy stuff.


End file.
